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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826573">I'll never be the thief (to bring in hot scattered hell)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanaasbananas/pseuds/Hanaasbananas'>Hanaasbananas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Sun Prince [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(naturally), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai tries to snuff out Zuko's supporters, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko is a theatre nerd, also we get sokka and katara finally!, and the blue spirit is born, his determination to piss off ozai grows x100, in which Zuko's rebellion is noticed, specifically as a result of Zuko's theatre nerd tendencies, the fire nation people love zuko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:07:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanaasbananas/pseuds/Hanaasbananas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lighting one of his lamps, he stares at the title he’d written at the top of the blank page: <i>Rules.<i></i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The paper is blank. Two months, and it’s <i>still<i> blank. He doesn’t understand it. Nobody has told him the rules yet, and he hasn’t been able to figure them out for himself either. Azula <i>had <i> always said he was stupid.</i></i></i></i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>
          <i>
            <i>Zuko adjusts to life away from the palace. In Caldera, his supporters grow.</i>
          </i>
        </i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iroh &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Katara &amp; Sokka (Avatar), Zuko &amp; Zuko's Crew (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Sun Prince [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Collection of Beloved Inserts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll never be the thief (to bring in hot scattered hell)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok I lied. This part doesn't have zutara, BUT the next part DEFINITELY will, I promise. To make up for it, you get 4k words though, and that's something, right? At least Sokka and Katara are actually in this fic now. </p>
<p>Title from the Fort Hope song <i> Dios Falso </i> (check it out, it's one of my favourites)</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The serving girl is fourteen when she comes to work at the palace.</p>
<p>She travels far for the job, with her father away in the war, and mother too sick to work, the responsibility falls to her to find work and it is with trepidation, a dash of excitement, and more than a few romantic flights of fancy that she arrives in Caldera. </p>
<p>The palace’s head of staff only gives her a cursory once over before assigning her to the kitchens, waving her off with only two instructions: do not speak to anyone but the other servants, and <em> do not be seen. </em></p>
<p>She doesn’t mind. She’s in the <em> palace! </em> When she writes back to her mother, she speaks of the sheer opulence that surrounds her, the glamorous courtly fashions she gets to see, the beautiful gardens. </p>
<p>The other servants look at her wide eyed wonder and shake their heads, sharing pitying smiles between themselves. None of them have the heart to burst her bubble. Instead, they place bets on how long it will last. </p>
<p>It takes longer than they expected, but soon, her eyes dull, her smile shrinks, her letters home become short and perfunctory. </p>
<p>Her presence is nothing to be noticed after all; just another nameless girl among many, working silently, diligently, melting into the shadows where she will not be seen. </p>
<p>And then, everything changes. </p>
<p>Nobody talks about Prince Zuko. It is as if the crown prince doesn’t exist at all, That’s why it’s such a shock when the serving girl stumbles across the group of people gathered in the kitchen late at night, who pledge their loyalty to the banished Prince Zuko.</p>
<p>Clamping a hand over her mouth, she retreats into the shadows, her eyes wide as she eavesdrops, her heart in her throat. </p>
<p>They call themselves the Order of the Sun Prince and she listens to them discuss sightings of him, speak of his rebellion, and how they can aid him from the homeland. When the meeting finally adjourns hours later, she finds that the lost spark in her chest has reignited, and feeling emboldened, she steps into view and demands to join their order.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p><em>“You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher…”</em> <em>Father looms over Zuko, his shadow bathing him in darkness as he lies prostrate at his feet. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “I am your honourable son!” he appeals one last time, knowing already that he will not be shown mercy. Not now. Not today. Not ever.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’d broken the rules, and this was his punishment. He’d broken the rules and now father had to teach him a lesson, teach him to curb his pride, to respect those who knew better than him.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The crowd isn’t the type to jeer and shout like commoners, but he can still hear the excited murmurs, snippets of half formed sentences reaching his ears in the brief bursts of clarity that break through his panic.  </em>
</p>
<p><em> And then, for a single moment, everything goes quiet, a hush falling over the arena. Zuko dares to look up, dares to hope as father, with an unreadable expression brings his hand down to cup his face; he almost leans into the touch, but then- </em> </p>
<p>Zuko jerks awake.</p>
<p>Heart hammering in his chest, he stumbles blindly from his bed, scrabbling at his desk for the scroll he’d left there. There! Hidden inside the panel underneath the desk. Lighting one of his lamps, he stares at the title he’d written at the top of the blank page: <em> Rules </em>. </p>
<p>The paper is blank. Two months, and it’s <em> still </em> blank. He doesn’t understand it. Nobody has told him the rules yet, and he hasn’t been able to figure them out for himself either. Azula <em> had </em> always said he was stupid. </p>
<p>Zuko just needs to know the <em> rules. </em> He may not have been good at following them, but father at least always let him know what was expected from him. Growing up in the palace, he’s always had to follow rules, for as long as he can remember. Rules about what to wear, what to say, <em> how </em> to say it. Who he was allowed to speak to and who should be beneath his notice. Rules about when to wake, sleep, eat, train. </p>
<p>And then of course there were the rules that were specific only to him. <em> Azula </em> never had to be told: <em> do not engage in conversation with your servants other than to give orders, </em> or <em> no sword fighting under any circumstances.  </em></p>
<p>Slipping up, or forgetting the rules was not an option. Not if he wanted to avoid the consequences that followed. Usually coming in the form of sharp reprimands, a quick backhand, sometimes even small burns on his arms, beneath his sleeves where nobody could see.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter how hard he tried though, he always fell a little short, often stumbling and forgetting something, shaming father with his incompetence. Not until he started writing them down-reading the list every night and every morning to commit them all to memory-did he manage to become the perfect royal. </p>
<p>It didn’t last long of course. Azula— who delighted in his punishments—had been especially put out by the fact that he did not struggle anymore and took it upon herself to investigate, finding his scroll and burning it to ashes. But not before showing it to father and getting him punished for being unable to remember a few simple rules. </p>
<p>Zuko clenches his fist, crumpling the paper in his hand as he struggles to get his breathing out of control, to make sure he doesn’t set the paper alight. It’s taken him this long to simply build up to lighting <em> lamps </em> without recoiling from his own fire, and that’s <em> intentional </em>bending. He can’t trust his reaction if he accidentally produced a larger flame, held in his fist so close to his skin.</p>
<p>It just doesn’t make <em> sense. </em> For the past two months, he’s watched Uncle, trying to see what makes him angry, what rules he is expected to follow, but Uncle is impossible to read. He lets him do what he wants, lets him choose which subjects to study each day, and though Zuko is hot headed—easy to anger—Uncle says nothing, simply cuts their lessons short and tells him to practise his sword fighting with Amari instead. </p>
<p>He is reminded, suddenly, of Lu Ten. He’d always been envious of the older boy; of his relationship with his father-how easily they laughed together, how his cousin would make fun of Uncle and nothing bad happened. Zuko wasn’t <em>naive</em>, he knew he’d never have that sort of relationship with his own father, but he’d thought—foolishly—that if he could just <em>learn to be obedient</em>, then maybe father wouldn’t deem him a lost cause; would maybe— well it hardly mattered now anyway.  </p>
<p>“Argh!” Zuko throws the paper across the room, pulling on a shirt and storming up onto the deck. The fresh air is a welcome relief to his flushed skin, and he watches as the sun begins to break through the clouds, chasing away the last vestiges of dusk and setting the sky ablaze in a wave of brilliant oranges and pinks that warm his skin.</p>
<p>Zuko immediately feels a little better, settling into a firebending stance to practise his katas. The few people on deck leave him to it, and he ignores them in kind, throwing himself instead into the training. </p>
<p>He’s still practising hours later—having moved onto his dao—when Uncle finds him hours later.</p>
<p>“Nephew, what is the matter? Lieutenant Jee tells me you have yet to stop for breakfast. Come, why don’t you rest and have tea with me. I have a new blend that I am certain you will enjoy.”</p>
<p>“I don’t need your tea, Uncle,” Zuko speaks through gritted teeth, his blades glinting in the sun as they slice through the air. Focusing on keeping his movements fluid, he ignores the perspiration  dripping into his eyes as the sun beats down on him from above. <em> This, </em>at least, is something he can do well. “I need to know the rules.” </p>
<p>“What rules?” Uncle tilts his head curiously and the fragile lid he’d managed to put on his roiling emotions shatters. How does he not understand? There are <em> always </em>rules! </p>
<p>“The <em> rules!” </em> he yells, whirling on Uncle, his eyes wide, desperate, and just a little terrified as a thought occurs to him. </p>
<p>“Is this some kind of <em> trick, huh? </em> Is that it? You won’t tell me the rules so that when I break one, you can punish me and get rid of me for bringing dishonour upon you just like...just like…” <em> Just like father </em>, he doesn’t say, but from the way Uncle’s eyes flick over to his scar, to the burns that litter his arms, he’d heard the words anyway. </p>
<p>Zuko deflates then, the anger escaping him as quickly as it had arrived and he just feels <em> tired </em> . Uncle is nothing like father, he <em> knows </em>that, but he still can’t stop waiting for the other shoe to drop; to cross an invisible line and for Uncle’s kindness to prove conditional. </p>
<p>He is not Iroh’s own son after all, and if his father could not love him, then how can he ever expect Uncle to? </p>
<p>Arms dropping limply to his sides, he lets his dao clatter to the ground, stepping past them and walking over to the railing of the ship. After a long pause, Uncle joins him, the two of them looking out across the ocean. “I am sorry, nephew,” Uncle begins, his voice regretful.</p>
<p>Zuko jerks around to face him, shock painted across his face. Why is <em> Uncle </em> apologising? Zuko is the one who disrespected him, he should be <em> angry, </em>should reprimand him, tell him that sort of behaviour will not be tolerated. So why-</p>
<p>“I should have anticipated that you would struggle to adjust to life away from the palace.” Uncle continues before Zuko can interrupt. “I cannot presume to know what rules your father expected you to follow, though I have some idea.” His expression darkens “but know this, Prince Zuko, there is <em> nothing </em>you can do that would make me ‘get rid’ of you.” </p>
<p>Tears prick at his eyes and he blinks them away angrily, not trusting himself to speak. Somehow, Uncle understands his silence for what it is though, and he turns away from the railing, patting Zuko on the shoulder as he passes him. “You should not go to your lessons on an empty stomach, nephew. Would you like to join me for tea?”</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The Order of the Sun Prince gathers once every two weeks, always at the dead of night, always in a different location in the palace. Held in complete darkness, there is no way for her to know who her fellow order members are—a measure implemented to ensure that betrayal cannot come from within. </p>
<p>The serving girl never misses a meeting, and in the days that follow, she holds the secret close to her chest, carrying it with her and allowing it to warm her whenever Princess Azula is feeling particularly cruel. Her letters home become longer again, and happier, though she doesn’t tell her mother why. </p>
<p>Other’s notice the brightness in her eyes, the new skip in her step and tease her about having a sweetheart. She blushes prettily and doesn’t refute their claims. Better that they believe the change comes from the throes of first love, and not the treason she’s actually committing. </p>
<p>But the serving girl is still only fourteen years old. She has not yet been at the palace long enough to recognise the rat-vipers who watch her changed demeanor with narrowed eyes, who follow her when she rises late at night to see what it is she is hiding. </p>
<p>The guards come for her the next morning. She does not struggle, or shout, or beg for her life. Bought to stand in front of the Firelord and Princess Azula, she watches as the princess’s lip curls in disgust, as the flames that obscure the Firelord rise higher, her hair sticking to the back of her neck, damp with sweat.</p>
<p>Firelord Ozai demands she renounce her loyalty to Prince Zuko and she locks her knees so that they will not tremble, clasps her hands tightly together and holds her head high. The guard behind her kicks her legs out from beneath her, forcing her to kneel, and she bites her tongue hard, to stop from crying out. She will not make a spectacle of herself. </p>
<p>The Firelord comes to circle her, looking down his nose at her. It’s clear that he does not believe her to be a threat, and he’s right. She is but a lowly servant after all. He offers her her freedom in exchange for the other members of the order. </p>
<p>She does not respond, thinking of what she has learned about the Sun Prince. About his kindness, his drive for peace, his rejection of the cruelty that the fire princess embraces with open arms. For a short moment, she closes her eyes, lets herself mourn the fact that she will never meet the prince. The little girl inside her rages at the injustice of it all, but she calms her tantrum, remembering that the other members of the order <em> will </em> one day stand by Prince Zuko’s side. </p>
<p>Her eyes snap open and she glares defiantly up at the Firelord. Tasting blood in her mouth, she spits it out at the Firelord's feet and hisses what she knows now will be her last words: “<em> Long live Prince Zuko.” </em></p>
<p>The serving girl is the first to die for the Sun Prince. She will not be the last. </p>
<p>So it begins.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Lieutenant Jee’s eyes narrow as he watches Kaito support a stumbling Prince Zuko up the gangplank. The boy is gesticulating wildly as he walks, almost hitting Kaito in the face more than once, to the amusement of the sniggering crew following behind them. </p>
<p>General Iroh had mentioned that a theater group was playing <em> Love Amongst the Dragons </em> in the town they’d docked at and Prince Zuko had immediately demanded to go and see it. From the looks of it, he had not had an enjoyable experience. </p>
<p>As he approaches the group, Jee catches the tail end of the Prince’s rant “-worse than the <em> Ember Island players! </em>I thought that was impossible!” He seems personally affronted, and judging by the smirks on the rest of the men’s faces, this rant has been going on for some time. </p>
<p>“Prince Zuko.” Jee clears his throat, eyebrows rising up to his hairline when the prince spins around to face him too fast, almost losing his balance before righting himself and flipping off a guffawing Kaito over his shoulder. He takes in the Prince’s flushed cheeks, his unfocused eyes and oh, <em> Agni, give me strength, </em> his crew had gotten the prince <em> drunk </em>. </p>
<p>“Yes, l-left-” the prince hiccups, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth to muffle his giggles. “ef-lieu-lieutenant? Wha you want?” </p>
<p>Suppressing a long suffering sigh, Jee gestures ahead of him. “If I could speak to you in my office, please.”</p>
<p>Once the door has shut behind them, he pours a large glass of water and hands it to the boy. Jee has no idea how much he’s had to drink, but this conversation would certainly go better if Prince Zuko is somewhat sober. </p>
<p>As the prince gulps down the water, Jee takes a moment to examine the boy sitting across the desk from him. In twenty years of service, he’s seen many things that have perplexed him, but none more so than the banished crown prince of the Fire Nation. He just doesn’t know what to make of the boy. Because he is just that—a boy—on the cusp of adolescence yes, but still a boy. </p>
<p>Sometimes he really wishes he was never picked for this job. But someone has to do it, so before he can second guess himself, he slides a thick letter across the table to the prince. “A messenger hawk delivered this today. It bears the royal seal.” </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Music night is in full swing when Zuko finally emerges from Lieutenant Jee’s office. Waving absentmindedly at the crew as he moves to sit beside Uncle, Zuko lets the sound of the Tsungi horn wash over him, nodding his head to the tune. He’d completely forgotten about music night in the wake of father’s letter. </p>
<p>Father’s letter.</p>
<p>He’d gotten straight to the point of course. No use in wasting unnecessary words on his disappointment of a son. But even with such a short message, he could hear the smugness behind the words. </p>
<p>
  <em> Prince Zuko, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Your juvenile attempts to rebel against the crown have not gone unnoticed. If you wish to step foot on Fire Nation soil ever again I suggest  that you cease this idiocy and resume your original mission to find the Avatar. I am once again showing you a mercy, Prince Zuko. You would be wise to heed my words. Anyone else who so blatantly flaunts their disloyalty towards my rule would be executed immediately, be they the highest ranking soldier, or the lowliest servant in the palace. This is the only warning I shall give you. Should you continue this path, you will be stripped of your title as crown prince and declared traitor to the Fire Nation, to be killed on sight.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Firelord Ozai </em>
</p>
<p>Upon his first reading of the letter, Zuko had felt a fierce satisfaction bubble in his chest. Their actions had been noticed. So far, they’d simply started skirmishes, liberating a few small Earth Kingdom towns, stealing and redistributing supplies to those who needed them. Hardly <em> revolutionary </em> by any means, but they’d made themselves enough of a nuisance to be bought to the Firelord’s attention. That meant they were doing the right thing. </p>
<p>But all of the vicious glee had drained out of him when he saw what else father had enclosed with his letter.</p>
<p>A list of the dead. The names and ages of every soldier in the 41st division who had been massacred. He’d barely stopped himself from throwing up all over Lieutenant Jee’s desk. Not that he would have blamed him—Jee had looked a little green after Zuko had passed him the list. </p>
<p>So many dead. Those faceless, nameless soldiers he’d stood up for, all dead. Mako, 16, Shaojin, 18, Yoze, 16, Asih, 20, Uma, 17, Isone, 16. And so many more. </p>
<p>Zuko had spoken up for them, had defended their right to live when they could not, but what else had he done? He hadn’t followed through, and now they were dead. They were barely older than him, an entire division of young men and women, now gone.  </p>
<p>And what did father mean by <em> highest ranking soldier, or the lowliest servant in the palace </em>? That entire sentence had felt out of place in the letter. Why mention it at all? Unless something had happened…</p>
<p>He knows that he has supporters in the capital, people who have become disillusioned with the current regime and wish for the war to end just as much as he does. He’s heard whispers of a movement that pledge their loyalty to him, but surely they would be careful not to draw attention to themselves, living in the heart of the dragons cave, as it were.</p>
<p>Zuko himself had tried to keep a low profile in the beginning, but the distinctive scar on his face made him easily recognisable. With word of his exploits reaching Caldera though, his supporters might feel emboldened enough to be more open in their loyalty to the banished prince. </p>
<p>And there’s only one way that would end. </p>
<p>There’s no way for him to protect them either. Not without breaking the terms of his banishment by returning and then he’ll be killed on sight. No, he needs to find another solution. If only there was a way for him to pretend to be cowed under father’s ire without abandoning his own mission.</p>
<p>He’d need a disguise of course, and—</p>
<p>A gentle nudge to his shoulder from Uncle brings him out of his musings and Zuko looks up to see the crew staring at him expectantly, the music having come to a stop. Immediately, he scowls. “I’m <em> not </em>playing the tsungi horn!” </p>
<p>Uncle laughs beside him “that is not what we were talking about, nephew. The crew was just telling me about a play you went to see today. They tell me you have a lot to say about the performance.”</p>
<p>Zuko blinks. The day's events already seem so far away, as though his trip to see <em> Love Amongst the Dragons </em> had taken place months ago instead of just this afternoon. His petty outrage at the absolutely abysmal performance of one of his favourite plays seems childish now. </p>
<p>Shrugging uncomfortably, he mumbles “well anyone with eyes could see it was a terrible performance. They <em> completely </em> butchered the play.” As he speaks, he catches Kaito’s eye, squinting in suspicion at the shit eating grin on the other man’s face. </p>
<p>That never means anything good. </p>
<p>“So you think you could do a better job?” Kaito pulls a mask out from somewhere—<em> when </em> did he have the time to get that on the way back to the ship?—specifically, the blue water spirit mask used in the play, and <em> oh spirits, </em>Kaito throws the mask across from him, a clear challenge issued in his expression.</p>
<p>Sometimes, Zuko really wishes he hadn’t made friends with his crew. If they feared him, none of them would dare challenge him like this. </p>
<p>“I <em> know </em> I could.” Zuko retorts “doesn’t mean I’m gonna prove it. You didn’t even bring the right mask. The Dragon Emperor’s mask is <em> red </em>.” </p>
<p>“Come now, Prince Zuko” Uncle laughs delightedly “I’m sure the colour of the mask will have no bearing on your performance.”</p>
<p>Turning the mask over in his hands, Zuko has to admit it’s well made. At least <em> something </em>from that ridiculous performance was good quality. “Fine.” He grouses, levelling a glare at Kaito and the others sniggering beside him. </p>
<p>Pulling the mask over his face, he stands, stumbling a little as he gets used to the extra weight on his head. Clearing his throat, he begins. “Dark Water Spirit! You shall <em> rue </em>the day you condemned—” </p>
<p>“Louder!” </p>
<p>Zuko yanks the mask down, glaring irritably at Kaito. “<em> What?”  </em></p>
<p>Kaito is unfazed, smirking across at him. “We can’t hear you properly with that mask muffling your voice. You have to be louder.” </p>
<p>Zuko nods stiffly. “Is that all?” his gaze sweeps across the gathered crew, who remain silent, though their amusement is clear to see. Putting the mask back on, Zuko grudgingly admits that Kaito has a point. Not that he’ll tell <em> him </em>that. </p>
<p>“Dark Water Spirit! You shall <em> rue </em>the day you condemned the mighty Dragon Emperor to dwell amongst the mortals!”</p>
<p>Now that he’s aware of the issue Zuko has to concentrate hard to make sure his voice is audible, and doesn’t come out as unintelligible babble, and okay, maybe he was a little harsh on those actors; delivering emotional speeches from behind a heavy wooden mask is <em> hard.  </em></p>
<p>He still blows their performance out of the water though.</p>
<p>“You should join that theatre troupe,” Kaito laughs afterwards as Uncle claps him on the back “show those guys how it’s <em> really </em>done.” At Zuko’s incredulous look, he continues  “Seriously! If I didn’t know it was you underneath that stupid blue face, I’d have thought you were a real actor!” </p>
<p>Flushing at the praise, Zuko ducks his head to hide his smile, fiddling with the mask in his lap before freezing suddenly, his mind latching onto Kaito’s words. <em> If I didn’t know it was you... </em>could it really be that easy? Tilting his head, Zuko examines the mask in his hands, an idea forming in his mind. </p>
<p>This time when he grins, it’s for an entirely different reason.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The Southern Water Tribe, six months later.</b>
</p>
<p>“Hey Sokka, think fast!” Katara calls out, throwing a water whip at her brother, snickering when hhe almost falls backwards in surprise.</p>
<p>“<em>Katara-!”  </em></p>
<p>“What?” She shrugs innocently, sitting down beside him, “I have to practise on <em> someone </em>. That was a little better than yesterday wasn’t it? And you should be thanking me.”</p>
<p>“Thanki-?” Sokka squawks indignantly. “<em> Why </em> would I thank you for using your freakish water powers on me?” </p>
<p>“You’re the only who’s always talking about ‘always being prepared,’” she makes air quotes with her hands. “I figured you’d appreciate the chance to work on your observation skills. You made it <em> way </em>too easy to sneak up on you.” </p>
<p>Sokka glowers at her. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He scowls for a moment before admitting begrudgingly, “and that magic trick you did <em> was </em> better. I actually felt it that time.”</p>
<p>Waving off her protests about her bending, he doesn’t let her respond, snatching up his binoculars from where he’d dropped them and shuffling forward to the edge of his watchtower. “But <em> I </em> was doing something more important than annoying little sisters trying to sneak up on me. Look! This has been out there all morning. <em> Very </em> suspicious, I’d say.” </p>
<p>“It’s a box.” Katara deadpans. The box in question looks like any other, a small wooden crate sitting innocuously on the ice just at the edge of the village. “Sokka I think you’ve been out here too long.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m serious!”  </p>
<p>“What do you think is in it? Who even left it there?”</p>
<p>Sokka throws his hands up in exasperation. “I wouldn’t be watching it if I <em> knew </em>that!” </p>
<p>“Well why don’t we open it?” </p>
<p>“Are you<em> crazy?!” </em> he yelps, scrambling after her as she strides towards the box. “What if there’s a bloodthirsty fire nation soldier just waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting water tribe person who opens it? They could have found out that our men are all gone and seized their chance!”</p>
<p>Instead of pointing out the sheer impracticality of such a plan, Katara just rolls her eyes, sighing a little before appealing to her brother's ego. “Well then it’s a good thing I have a capable warrior who can protect me, isn’t it?” </p>
<p>As expected, Sokka puffs up with pride, gripping his spear more tightly as they approach the crate. The box is just as inoffensive up close. It’s larger than she realised, big enough to fit a man at least, and Katara resists the urge to step back uneasily, suddenly rethinking her quick dismissal of Sokka’s theory. </p>
<p>But after a thorough inspection, the only clue as to where it came from is a small stamp in one corner. Wrinkling her nose, Katara tries to make sense of the image-some sort of blue and white demon's face, it’s teeth bared in a wide, unsettling grin- but other than being kind of creepy, there’s nothing recognisable about it at all. </p>
<p>Finally satisfied that the crate isn’t a threat, Sokka uses his spear to prise open the lid, exclaiming loudly at the contents within as he pulls out steel weapons, bags and bags of what appears to be dried foods-fruit and nuts and grains that are easy to store and not quickly perishable- bolts of wool in an astounding array of colours, and finally, nestled at the bottom of the crate, many many pairs of leather boots, well made and sturdy enough. </p>
<p>For a long moment, the siblings stare at the haul in astonished silence. “W-” Katara falters, starts again, rummaging through the box to try and find any more evidence as to who their mysterious benefactor is. “Who would have sent this?” </p>
<p>Her brother shrugs, waving his new weapon around in the air. “Who cares? This stuff is <em> amazing! </em>Now I can teach proper weapons training!” </p>
<p>Katara glares at him, her mission forgotten as she snatches the spear from his hand, aiming it threateningly at his head. “Don’t you <em> dare </em> even <em> think </em>about giving those children sharp weapons.” The weapon is surprisingly heavy, but she doesn’t move it until Sokka holds up his hands in surrender.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright, jeez!” he exclaims, moving to pick up the box instead and muttering under his breath “spoilsport.”</p>
<p>“I heard that!” </p>
<p>They bicker all the way back home, the box between them, and soon all thoughts of trying to find out who sent them the gifts have fled from her mind. </p>
<p>That is, until a few days later, when they’re distributing everything out to the village and a small scrap of paper flutters out from between two bolts of wool. Stamped with the same strange face that was on the crate, the paper gives a name to the image, though it is not as enlightening as she’d have hoped: <em> The Blue Spirit. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you thought! I've never written Sokka and Katara before so I wasn't sure if I got their voices right. Also, I'm going to try and have the next part done by next week, but I'm gonna be taking part in Zutara Bollywood Week which starts on the 12th. Either way, watch this space!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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